


life was on our tongues

by tousled



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Endgame Tuffstrid, F/M, Love Letters, M/M, New Berk falls, POST-HTTYD3, hiccstrid divorce, past Hiccstrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: In the end, the twins sail off into the sunset and Astrid hopes they have enough supplies, enough coin, enough experience in sailing. She stands on the rickety dock, badly made in a hurry, in the dress she doesn’t want to wear to a wedding she doesn’t want to attend, hoping they’ll turn around and come back for her. She waits every night for a month, at the same dock, and when it’s clear there is no one coming back she stops hoping.Astrid builds a house, harvests honey and learns to cook, but those aren’t the most important things that happen on New Berk.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/Tuffnut Thorston, Fishlegs Ingerman/Eret, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 14





	life was on our tongues

**Author's Note:**

> if you’re here because of the hiccstrid tag, this is end game tuffstrid and hiccup’s a canon-typical jerk in this. they are married and have zephyr but they get divorced. i hope you’ll enjoy a different take/angst anyway but if you want hiccstrid fluff this isn’t the fic for you. 
> 
> i affectionately call this fic the “new Berk falls au” and I’ve been thinking about this for a long while. I hope u enjoy it & leave comments :)

Astrid is the only one that sees the twins off the day they leave New Berk. 

She knew they were going to when Tuff had cried big blubbering tears the day Hiccup had sent their dragons away. When Ruff stood so still, so brittle it was like her entire body was held together by determination, like she was still sixteen and trying to prove herself. Later, after a week of feasting due to the Haddock wedding Hiccup will ask where they are and Astrid will  _ laugh _ . They were always going to leave. 

It is not anyone else’s fault they don’t wave handkerchiefs at the longboat full of supplies and Chicken’s make-shift coop. They may have always planned to leave after the dragons were gone, but they didn’t  _ tell  _ anyone. 

“Take care,” Astrid says. She is wearing the gown Valka had offered to her as a betrothal gift, the dress she’s going to get married in tomorrow and all she wants is for them to ask her to go with them. All she wants is for Tuff to ask her to run away with him. 

“We’ll write letters.” Ruff offers, a shrug. Astrid snorts, unsure of how even a letter will get delivered. It sounds like something placating Tuff told her to say. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be your flower girl.” Tuff says, sombrely and Astrid knows they’re leaving today because he couldn’t  _ stand  _ it. The entire village is abuzz, and he can’t stand another moment of hearing it. The talk makes Astrid feel sick.  _ Ask me to go,  _ she begs with her eyes, with her expression. 

“I honestly had a better role in mind for you in my ideal wedding.” Astrid says, brave, reckless,  _ hoping _ . Ruff rolls her eyes. 

“Celebrant?” Tuff asks and whatever moment Astrid was waiting for passes. 

“Sure,” she agrees, “celebrant.” 

In the end, they sail off into the sunset and Astrid hopes they have enough supplies, enough coin, enough experience in sailing. She stands on the rickety dock, badly made in a hurry, in the dress she doesn’t want to wear to a wedding she doesn’t want to attend, hoping they’ll turn around and come back for her. She waits every night for a month, at the same dock, and when it’s clear there is no one coming back she stops hoping. 

It is just Astrid and her fate, now. 

The first letter comes a near eight months later, a beaten envelope brought in by a one eyed trader. He only hands it over once Astrid’s passed over a couple of coins, grin sharp like maybe he opened it and read it over. Hiccup is bartering over squid ink and parchment, and doesn’t even notice when Astrid leaves him to it, weaving her way around all the goings on traders selling their wares and fisherman struggling with the catch. 

Only when she’s definitely alone, halfway across New Berk does she open it. It is all Tuff’s messy scrawl, like Astrid had imagined. No way was  _ Ruff  _ going to write letters. 

They met a pirate who fell in love with Ruff’s “brutish charms,” a month long escapade in which they recognised one of Eret’s old crew members as they robbed him blind. There’s still captive dragons across the seas. Tuff might have learnt to lock pick to set them free, and Ruff drives a hard bargain, earning plenty of coin, buying up mistreated dragon pets. They have saved three Monstrous Nightmare, a poorly miniature gronckle, an injured speedstinger and five overweight terrible terrors. Astrid smiles and smiles until her cheeks hurt, reading and rereading and tracing the runes with her fingers. 

It is only her own stomach growling and the low light of late evening that forces her back home, letter tucked back into its envelope. The house is quiet, a fire going in the hearth and nothing ready, Hiccup looking at a pile of old land claims. His breakfast is still uneaten on the table. 

“What’s that?” He asks, looking up as she picks the bowl up, as loudly as possible. 

“A letter.” She offers, tempted to just throw the whole bowl out, congealed porridge and all. He doesn’t apologise for not eating it. 

“For what?” He prods and Astrid tries not to take it personally. Land claims on New Berk is  _ hard _ . Everyone wants the same piece of land they had before, but New Berk is smaller, more rugged, harder to farm. 

“It’s from the twins,” Astrid shrugs. 

“Oh.” Hiccup says. He looks at the letter like maybe he can read it through the envelope. “You can leave it on the kitchen table when you’re done, I have to deal with another dispute between Silent Sven and Olga the Honourable.” Astrid feels something ugly rise up inside her, something angry. 

“It’s not addressed to you.” She snaps. Hiccup throws his hands up he does when he thinks people (Silent Sven and Olga the Honourable especially) are being difficult for no reason. Her free hand balls into a fist. 

“I’m sure they want to let everyone know how they’re doing.” He placates. Astrid wants to yell, to start a fight. She lets him smile and leave their half finished house to go and talk until the sky turns midnight blue. 

“No.” Astrid says to the door. She feels nauseous and angry and vindictive. 

She burns the letter. 

It takes a further three days for Hiccup to ask about the letter again. Astrid, regretfully, picked all the bits from the coals the next morning, hands stained black. Each piece was stained, and didn’t make sense but she held the entirety together in her heart and made a new envelope out of some of Hiccup's paperwork. It is the only thing left from the twins, from Tuff, she was a fool to watch the papers burn. 

“Hey, I haven’t read the letter from the twins yet.” He says, in front of Snotlout and Fishlegs. They all look at her with wide eyes. 

“What letter?” Astrid tries. 

“The one from a couple of days ago.” He adds. Fishlegs looks  _ very  _ meaningfully at her. 

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I was cleaning up your mess and I knocked a bunch of stuff onto the ground. Some of it fell into the fire.” 

“Did Ruff send a letter?” Fishlegs asks, cornering her when she’s trying to not get swindled by another trader for pine slats. 

“Not to you,” Astrid says, although not unkindly, “why would Ruff write though? She didn’t send anyone a letter.” 

“I thought,” Fishlegs begins. They all know what he thought. In the end, Fishlegs is like Astrid, proud of their home and people. In the end, Fishlegs is happy where he is, and that was never going to be what Ruff wanted. In the next letter, Astrid imagines there will be a barkeep or a trader or someone who’s in love with her this time. Astrid pays the trader too much for the wood. 

Fishlegs helps her to carry the pine back to the Haddock house, stopping by his own to procure another hammer. In a soft silence only interrupted by quiet talk they build a secret little loft space. It blends into the rest of the house, looking like nothing is there at all, just an eave, and Astrid wishes she had something to put in it already. As thanks for Fishlegs’ help, and for his silence, Astrid shows him the scraps of the letter. 

“It really did get burnt.” She offers, hand open. 

“This doesn’t explain much,” Fishlegs holds the paper even more delicately than Astrid, looking it over. It’s not even in order, Astrid knows. The pieces are all jumbled, in disarray and she’s glad she’s the only one that got the story, even if it’s selfish. 

“They’re okay.” Astrid says. “They’re better than okay, more okay than they ever would have been here.” 

Fishlegs nods. He still reads every last scrap, trying to decipher it. He reads about the pirate, although not the importance, and of Eret’s past crew mate. She fills in a couple of details she can stand to spare. The talk ends up being about past history, of adventures they shared, memories of them as children. 

“Why didn’t you leave?” Fishlegs asks, and Astrid’s jaw clenches. She looks away, and Fishlegs doesn’t bring it up again. 

The next letter is only three weeks later, the same trader asking for more money. He wants three coppers, and Astrid is not having it. She raises her voice to argue and catches the sight of Hiccup out of the corner of her eye. Hiccup is looking, face towards them as he scours for more ink and Astrid picks up a bushel of a vegetable she’s never seen before. 

“This too,” she says. She shakes it, and the smell is sharp, strong. The trader grins. 

“Don’t want your husband to know?” He asks, taking Astrid’s extra copper for the vegetables. Whatever he is thinking, he is both wrong and right and Astrid doesn’t feel the need to correct him. 

“Can you spend letters back?” She asks instead. And then, a moment later, adds, “I will buy something extra, whatever you can’t sell to ensure the letters are kept quiet.” 

“For you,” the trader grins, “anything.” 

Thus, starts Astrid’s collection of knick knacks, and taste for vegetables from strange lands. At first it starts with an ugly little doll, one button eye missing. A purple root vegetable that stains the stew. Then a set of broken pottery figurines that would have probably been rude if pieces weren’t missing. A collection of new vegetables to try and an old dragon muzzle bent to be a candle holder. Beans she’s told to soak in water for two days before adding to anything. Off cuts of leather too small to be of any use. And with it, letter after letter after letter. 

She reads of a terrible storm that engulfed the longboat, damaging its side and forcing the twins to make land for a couple of weeks. Ruff swindled the local chief after the son professed his love for her and Tuff traded for a very small breed of chicken he has never seen before. They are still chicks, tiny peeping bundles of fluff, and run circles around Chicken’s old bones. They make a run in with the pirate again, incensed that Ruff does not care for him the same way, but more forgiving then spoiled chief’s sons. 

There is a girl. Tuff takes care with every single brush stroke of writing out her name, and Astrid can barely stand it. She is kind hearted, the second daughter of a village’s chief and even in the words alone Astrid can feel the affection. As much as she wants to screw up the paper and drop it into a fire, burn the traces and the memory away, she takes it in. The girl stays at her village, keys to the working animal’s shed gone missing and the twins flee in the night with a couple of old work rumblehorns. 

There are lots of dragons to save out in the world. New Berk is a disaster zone still, people arguing and upset and missing their dragons and Hiccup spends all his time managing them. Valka helps, although her advice is mostly to cut things in half, so it’s mostly useless. Astrid wishes instead of fighting over the best patch of clover and grass, of where to build fence lines and bathhouses, they were saving dragons too. 

Astrid writes back, careful in her words. Her stories are less exciting. She speaks of finishing the house, and of her knick knacks and how adventurous her new palate is. Hiccup doesn’t care for leeks or squash or most of her cooking, but Fishlegs and Snotlout and Eret come around and eat pumpkin cakes and drink Fishlegs’ herbal teas. He has a large herbal garden at his house now, new things to be tried all the time and when Hiccup is away she helps tend the garden. The A team don’t need her help to train the Berk Guard, although she does in the morning and she wonders what she’s supposed to do on this new world, without Stormfly, without the twins, as Hiccup’s wife. 

It is obvious, two moons after Tuff sends a reassuring letter that Astrid is feared across the archipelago as a warrior, what Astrid’s supposed to do. Her stomach rolls, empty and Fishlegs rests a hand against her forehead. Thankfully, she had turned in time and missed the half constructed hive box, although one of the mint plants wasn’t so lucky. 

“Did you eat something bad?” Fishlegs asks. It is entirely possible but Astrid shakes her head. She was sick yesterday too. 

“Hiccup isn’t sick,” she says, although Hiccup barely even eats her food. It is a new batch of stew, after Hiccup had let the old one go cold. She has stopped making him porridge, although it is much better now, full of berries and honey. 

“Let’s have a break,” Fishlegs offers and not for the first time Astrid wishes that if she had to be stuck here, married to someone, it was Fishlegs. 

He makes her a tea from a pungent root so rare he paid actual gold coins for it, sweetened with clover honey and Astrid feels better for the first time in days. They sit in Fishlegs’ garden, drinking their tea and for a moment, Astrid feels at peace. It drags out though, both of them waiting for someone to come tearing around the corner, stepping on the thyme and screaming. 

“This is really good.” Astrid says, just to let herself breath, to break up the silence. “You should grow it, you’d make a fortune.” 

“It’s tropical,” Fishlegs shrugs, “it’s far too cold over winter. If we could somehow grow it in a room with a stable temperature it would be really good for sea and morning sickness.” 

“Remember when Meatlug make those panes of see through material after eating a lot of sandstone?” Astrid replies, trying to ignore the comment about morning sickness. “If you built a house of that stuff, it would be warm.” 

“Where’d that come from?” Fishlegs laughs, but he looks morose, thinking about Meatlug and Fishmeat. “That’s a twin idea if I ever heard one.” 

Astrid laughs too, but he’s right. She doesn’t want to think about how much she so desperately misses them so she gets a bucket of water from the well to wash away the vomit, cleaning the poor mint plant. They spend the rest of the afternoon not thinking about their loss, building two sets of hive boxes. The bees had been Astrid’s idea, after many lazy summer days of them floating around Fishlegs’ herb garden, and her trader giving her several different pots of honey. At the end of the day, Eret drops off a bag of flour and they spend the evening making rosemary and squash rolls, laughing when they get flour everywhere, the sickness forgotten for the moment. 

Tuff is the first one she tells, hands shaking as she struggles to write the word  _ pregnant.  _ She is scared and worried, and all at once accepting of what the role in her house is. She stops bothering with the fancy vegetables and herbs, takes them to make things with Fishlegs and Eret, and even sometimes Snotlout. She drinks the ginger tea, and they get a couple of queen bees to fill their hives and Tuff’s letter back is kind and soft and congratulatory. She writes,  _ you’re the only person I’ve told _ , and bravely  _ don’t tell anyone, but I wish it was with you _ , and buys a stuffed toy yak when she sends the next letter back. 

“More ginger, lass?” The trader asks, looking critically at the yak toy and at Fishlegs going over the seed collection. He has a remedy book in hand and probably only a few spare coins. 

“You gonna make us pay through the nose?” Astrid raises an eyebrow, unconvinced by the winsome smile on the trader’s face. 

“For my favourite customer, I’ll always offer you a discount.” He grins, pulling out a fresh piece of ginger. 

“Favourite.” Astrid snorts, but draws Fishlegs over, ready to barter for all sorts of herbs and spices. 

Hiccup doesn’t notice the toy. He made a comment, a couple of weeks ago about the knick knacks but it was half hearted at most. He is still dealing with land disputes and the docks need repairs. They are taking over the house, Eret helping to put up shelves for Astrid’s broken objects to sit upon. She wonders how much it will take to make him look.

“I have something important to tell you.” She says. The bowl of stew in front of him is cold. Hiccup glances up. Astrid puts the yak toy down in front of the bowl. 

“I’m really busy right now honey.” He says. Astrid cannot go back to Fishlegs for fruit and honey cake this evening because he was having Eret over and she’s certain she doesn’t want to get into the middle of _ that _ . “Let’s have breakfast tomorrow at my mother’s. 

“Alright, that’s fine.” She shrugs, surprising herself with how little she cares about being brushed off. She goes to bed, curled up in the furs alone and thinks about being on a boat instead. In the end, they don’t have breakfast after all, a nearby tribe attacking at nightfall. 

Astrid wakes to the smell of smoke, clogging up her dreams and she bolts upright, almost expecting Stormfly to look guilty at setting something alight. For a moment, she’s disoriented, lost in her dream and then her stomach is churning with worry, anxious instead of sick. She throws on her clothes, cursing a few extra buckles she has for looks and takes the stairs two at a time. 

The docks are ablaze. 

The Berk Guard is half on the canons, half set up lower down the hillside to keep most of the intruders at bay. There’s fighting in the street, upturned apple cart blocking the main road and sheep running around scared. Astrid picks up a fallen axe, knocking an invader with the butt of it and spending another flying to get to a group of children hiding behind the cart. She fells another warrior, his sword glancing down her arm and hurried the children into a building with a gruff Berkian in front of it. Turning, Astrid joins the fray, heading towards the docks until she sees Eret pinned down by the livestock barn. 

“We can hold them off,” Eret says when she skids to a stop next to him. “Gobber has a plan. Cover for me?” 

“Take care.” Astrid says, gripping her axe and prays to Odin that those words won’t lose her another friend. 

In the end, Gobber’s plan obviously works, the fight subsiding around her, morning light spilling onto the top of New Berk to show the smoking remains of their food stores and livestock barn. Several houses have gone up in flames, burning low and the armoury is trashed, weapons missing. The last battle Berkians fought was against Grimmel, the last cohesive war before that on a Berk they all were familiar with. They are sitting ducks, unfamiliar with this land, buildings without purpose, missing their dragons. 

“This was targeted.” Astrid says, sick to her stomach. She wants some of Fishlegs’ ginger tea, doesn’t want her hands to shake. She feels like a fish in a barrel, exposed. She misses their home, the roads she knew like the back of her hand, and Stormfly. 

“Aye,” Gobber agrees, “someone’s going to attack again.” Eret nods too, offering a shoulder to Astrid and she takes it gratefully, leaning against him, hand pressed to her sword wound. 

“Again?” Hiccup interrupts, tailed by Snotlout, “what do you mean?” 

“The buildings lad,” Gobber points out. He sweeps his hand over the damage. Already several Vikings are picking up the pieces, putting out fires. “They decimated our food. They stole weapons. They want to attack again.” 

“I’ll find out which tribe they belong to and speak with their chief.” Hiccup suggests, easy and Astrid wants to knock some sense into him. They didn’t just attack without their chief, this was  _ planned.  _ All Hiccup’s talking, all his dreams of a better world got him nowhere, got them  _ here _ . 

“We’re so exposed up here; easy to see, easy to find. Yes, there’s the cliffs but our advantage is only as good as our warning system, and how many canons and arrows we have. Without dragons we’ve lost the advantage, and no one understands how this village is set up.” Astrid says, strung out. “This is a mess Hiccup.” 

“We’ll work it out.” Hiccup smiles and it’s only the wound in Astrid’s arm that stops her from lashing out. She can’t stop thinking about how  _ easy  _ it was for their attackers, about the life growing inside her womb, of how she shakes every time she hears a roar like a flightmare’s. She thinks about  _ our parent’s war is about to become our own  _ and how much she wants her baby to live the utopia life Hiccup  _ promised. _

“We’ll work it out.” Astrid scoffs. He won’t even eat her cooking. None of this feels like they’ll ever just work the kinks out, despite how she tried, despite her looking the other way when he glanced over her. 

“Astrid.” Snotlout says, cautious. She flicks a glance his way, thinking about how he had always blossomed away from under the adults of Berk too. They all should have run away from home, gotten on the twins’ longboat, found their own life of adventure on the seas. 

“I’m serious,” Hiccup replies, missing the tone, missing her meaning. “It will all turn out fine - we just study the patterns from this fight and we’ll shore it up. Easy.” Astrid’s fist curls. 

“I’m pregnant.” Astrid yells. “Do you want  _ this  _ world for our child?”

The whole village is looking at her and Astrid turns. She takes a step away from Eret’s steadying shoulder and lets her hand drop, blood still sluggishly pooling on top of her wound, sleeve soaked. She feels wired, she feels like perhaps she looks crazy, standing there yelling in the middle of the village. 

“What?” Hiccup gapes. Astrid wants to laugh because everyone already  _ knew _ without being told. Not even Gobber looks half as surprised as Hiccup does. 

“You heard me.” Astrid says. She leaves the quiet of the village to go back home, to sit up in the loft and read Tuff’s letters because the twins weren’t there long enough to build a house and she needs to feel close. It is Fishlegs who finds her, a cup of ginger tea in hand and she puts down the papers and the toy yak to take it gratefully, sitting in the space they built together drinking the fruits of their labour. 

“Are the bees okay?” Astrid asks. They had only just harvested their first batch of honey, soft floral notes on the palette and Astrid is looking forward to making mead from it. Perhaps they should infuse it with herbs as well. 

“Sleepy but fine.” Fishlegs offers. He holds out his hand and Astrid takes it, squeezing his fingers. “My house was lucky. Eret, not so much.” 

“Is Eret going to move in with you?” Astrid turns, smiling softly up at Fishlegs and he smiles back. She likes the way Eret considers Fishlegs’ knowledge, how he looks at him. She thinks she could have played pretend there easily. 

Tuff’s next letter, free of charge because Berk needed to buy so much produce that the trader was happy to throw in herbs and willow charcoal, is a mess of scribbles and running ink. Astrid would think it got dropped into the ocean if not for a dark  _ Bastard!  _ underlined three times in Ruff’s handwriting.  _ You could have come with us.  _ A few things she can otherwise read are compliments, questions, and she thinks oh, maybe he didn’t know this whole time. Maybe she had stood on that dock begging to be asked along on their adventure with someone who wanted her to ask too. 

She writes back,  _ yes, I mean it. Next time, please ask me to run away with you _ . 

They rebuild New Berk. Now she’s told everyone she’s pregnant she gets delegated to easy jobs, holding things ready, steadying ladders. It feels like a slap in the face. Hiccup fusses, and it’s clear that several Vikings are far more worried about his wrath than Astrid’s own. She takes every embarrassing, insulting bypass with a sharp smile until she can’t stand it anymore, stomping off into the forest. New Berk is miserable to explore without company, trees so tight they block out the light and the sound. Each crunch of her foot against the pine needles is the thump of her heart, worried. New Berk is not home, will never be home, but Astrid will learn it anyway. 

It progresses like this, Astrid in the forest, learning the secret pathways and stock track, and they rebuild New Berk after attack after attack. She picks out trees to fell, berries to add to her cooking, plants with beautiful flowers for her bees. They can’t cut trees down fast enough, can’t rebuild in a strategic way that ensures a new batch of adventurers don’t try to take the land for themselves. Each time she steps into the village, when she steps upon a twig in the forest she feels her heart sink. She reads the letters, trading for buying things simply now, adventures that sound dangerous and fun and a million miles away from the settled terror of living in New Berk. She asks, if he knows anything but only Ruff can come up with whispers and rumours. 

_ Everyone knows,  _ Tuff writes,  _ Berk is weak now, it is not defended by dragons. A peace-loving chief with an unknown island and only the cliffs to stop them _ . 

It is nothing she doesn’t know, but it is disheartening to know others know it too. She tries to calculate how many arrows they have, how many stories of the twins adventures to keep her no longer on edge as she watches the cannon ball supplies dwindle. How many knives she’s got squirrelled away so she doesn’t have to add to Gobber’s workload. 

Her stomach begins to swell, and Hiccup asks her not to wander off and Astrid only nods instead of screaming like she wants to. If she cannot navigate the forest in the pitch black what else is she doing to save her village, to save her child? They argue about it, day by day, Hiccup begging her to be careful in a way that makes her feel like some of her ugly porcelain knick knacks. She was blind once, and she learnt from that was to ignore his instance she was broken. If she asked the same thing of him, he wouldn’t pay her any attention. 

“Astrid,” Hiccup says, voice croaky, “ _ please  _ stop going into the forest.” He looks like shit, his beard all raggedy and eyes heavy and if he stopped worrying about stupid  _ land claims  _ he’d find this rebuilding thing easier. If he asked Gobber, or Phelgma or Spitelout, they could all tell him how Berk survived hundreds of years rebuilding all the time. 

“Respectfully, no.” Astrid says. She turns to go upstairs. Hiccup grabs her wrist, too tight. 

“I couldn’t bear it if you’re hurt by something wild in the forest,” he begs, eyes wide and he is obviously going to say something more. Perhaps about wolves (there aren’t any) or wild boars (Astrid can hear them a mile away) or  _ dragons  _ (which she hasn’t seen since Hiccup sent them all away). Astrid tugs her arm out of his grip. 

“But it’ll be okay if getting hurt happens sitting here like a good housewife, waiting for you to come home?” Astrid replies, calmly even though her heart is beating at a million miles a minute. At his dumbfounded look she adds, “you knew who I was when you married me, knew what I was capable of. Did you think you could lock me into this prison you call a house once we fastened hands? I cannot sit here, waiting for New Berk to collapse. You won’t let me help the village this way, let me plan security back ups.” 

“Okay Astrid,” Hiccup says, “you’re right.” 

Astrid is flabbergasted, unsure of how to respond and lets him draw her up into his arms, kissing her forehead. He splays a hand unprompted across the curve of her stomach like the baby might kick. They go to bed, furs warm around them and Astrid lets her thoughts swirl in her head, wondering if maybe she was wrong. If Hiccup got it now, if her anger was misplaced. 

It only lasts as long as the night, Astrid waking refreshed but alone. Typically, with her breakfast she rereads a letter picked at random but for once she skips it over, aiming to head for the village again. When she turns the handle of the front door it does not budge. Confused, Astrid rattles it, shaking the door on its hinges and when it doesn’t move she stops. She lets her thoughts run wild, anger heavy in her veins and then goes to the back door, only to find that one locked too. 

“Hiccup Haddock,” Astrid says, trying windows next to the back door. They are locked shut too, obviously held together with some kind of plank. She tries every window until she finds only the second floor window with a drop that will seriously maim anyone trying to jump out of it open. “I am going to  _ kill  _ you, and instead of this being my prison it will be your grave.” 

In the end, he didn’t take her axe so she cuts the front door off its hinges, and when the ease of that job is done she breaks the windows and shutters. She throws her axe into the staircase repeatedly, until she can break half the railing off. She nails a note to the broken door, spiteful and lost and brings only her toy yak to Fishlegs’s house. He is not home and Astrid sits in the garden with her toy yak and the bees until it is dusk and Astrid’s cheeks are dry again. 

“Astrid?” Fishlegs calls, dropping Eret’s hand as he steps towards, arms up to comfort her. 

“Can viking marriages be annulled?” She asks, letting Fishlegs pull her into his arms. He hugs like Astrid imagines a bear would, all encompassing and she smiles into his shoulder. 

“You can get divorced.” Eret says, sitting beside her. “You can just state the reasons, three times, to witnesses. We can be your witnesses.” 

Astrid turns her arm up, wrist showing where Hiccup grabbed her yesterday, bruise clearly in the shape of a palm. She doesn’t care, really, wasn’t even aware it was bruised until perhaps an hour earlier. Fishlegs gasps, pulling away to look at it, but she shakes her head, comforting. 

“He locked me in the house.” She says. Wrote a letter, so angry she tore the paper, soon the whole archipelago will know. “I won’t die a Haddock in a foreign land, locked in a prison I built.” 

There is another raid that night, New Berk burning outside the window and Astrid feels hollow. Fishlegs’ house is unaffected again, some of the garden trampled when troops had rushed past and she waits to hear who has died this time. New Berk is going to fall, and Astrid can’t stand being here any longer. She writes another letter. 

Hiccup cries when she tells Gobber and Gothi and a host of other Vikings in the ruined door frame that she’s divorcing him. He begs, hand over the bruise on her arm and she flinches, caught out by the movement and everyone’s eyes draw to it. He pulls away, staring at his own hand and Astrid feels her anger bubble up inside her chest. She doesn’t care about the bruise, she cares about  _ Berk  _ and the raids and their diminished supplies and  _ locking her in the house.  _

“We have to leave.” Astrid says, at the end. “New Berk is going to burn down.” 

“I agree,” Eret says. “It’s too hard to defend.” 

“No one asked.” Hiccup says, too sharp. He still sounds breathless, voice sore from crying. Before, back on Berk, she had told him their marriage could not be a distraction but it always was. And now, he is too distracted trying to hold up a falling apart village. 

“Give up this dream up too, Hiccup.” Astrid says blunt, careless and really, she should have expected the venom that gets them thrown out. The door doesn’t shut anymore, but Hiccup tries. 

“Who are we anymore?” Astrid asks, looking at her friends. She doesn’t know the answer. 

“I can’t believe you  _ divorced _ Hiccup,” Snotlout says, still looking at her bruised arm. “I thought you were going to last forever.” 

“I thought she was going to actually marry Tuff.” Fishlegs says, contrary, partly to make Snotlout puff up. He does, predictably, and the both of them argue the rest of the way to Fishlegs’ house. It is an odd turn of phrase, and Astrid ponders it as she walks, wondering until they sit inside for pumpkin scones and warm sheep’s mood day milk with spices and Fishlegs hands her a letter. 

“It was for after the divorce.” He says, although she’s not sure how Tuff even knew about it. “You think you’re the only one that writes letters?” 

“How did he know?” She asks, it takes days, weeks for the trader to see them again, or for letters to be passed on. The letter is heavy in her hand, crumpled over a gift. 

“They’re rescuing dragons,” Fishlegs shrugs, leaning into Eret’s side. “We revived terror mail.” 

“You’re a piece of dragon dung.” Astrid says, only half meaning it. All the coppers she gave the trader for taking weeks to deliver mail, when their very own fish powered next day postal service was available the whole time. 

“You’re welcome.” Fishlegs grins. 

“What’s in it!” Snotlout shouts, interrupting. Astrid pushes him away, tucking the letter into her sleeve. She will look at it later. 

She opens it in the relative safety of Fishlegs’ spare room and the gift is Tuff’s necklace. She knows it’s the real one, from the age and the crack on one side and her heart thumps in her chest. She barges into Fishlegs’ room, thankfully only interrupting getting changed and not at a crucial moment, to get him to look at the necklace, for someone else to swoon at it. The romance of it, her heart fluttering right out of her throat as Fishlegs urges her to put it on. She can’t stop the shake in her hand, fingers against her breastbone. Fishlegs does look like he’s going to faint too, a hand to the forehead kind of swoon, and Eret looks like he’s taking notes. 

The coppers were worth it, after all. Astrid buys a letter and a bag of snake beans and a half destroyed ragdoll and sets up an extraction point on the other side of the island with the trader. He smiles, low, looking at Eret as he dips forwards to whisper to Astrid. She thinks if she hadn’t parted with so much coin, hadn’t given him so much business they’d have to watch out, just in case. Fishlegs and Gobber start building a boat, patching up what’s left of Berk’s fleet. The amount of helpers grows by the day, especially after another raid. Hiccup tells people desperately, people more stubborn than him, that things will be fine. 

Astrid wonders if he’s scared of his legacy now, of how he’ll be the chief who took Berk away to a fake promised land. The chief that ruined Berk. He needs to have a surviving population for that. 

The boats are completed, and Tuff’s letters to Fishlegs involve maps and directions and little drawings of sea monsters. Astrid’s belly is a hassle enough, and her memory sure, that she doesn’t go traipsing into the forest anymore. Her ankles hurt, and her back feels like the world is weighing her down and she  _ knows  _ everyone is just waiting for the birth of her child before they leave, before they run. When each raid causes new casualties she prays for it to happen quickly, to be soon. 

“Hurry up child,” she says, in the dead of night when she doesn’t feel stupid for speaking to her stomach. She presses a hand over it, stroking. She wonders if they should just leave, meet up with the twins and their pirate friends now. It does not matter, here on the desolate New Berk, or on a boat. 

She is speaking to the trader, Eret as a guard again, when Hiccup steps up next to her. She flicks him a glance, and the trader’s mouth curls distastefully. The conversation stutters, Hiccup’s presence overshadowing it, and Eret steps forwards. The trader shrugs, picking up a broken sugar bowl, and then puts it down, hand in his pocket.

“See you in a week’s time?” He asks, handing over the letter obviously. “ _ Milady.” _

“Or sooner,” Astrid offers, gripping the letter tight. They send them mostly via terror mail now but there’s still a few older letters being passed from trader to trader that Tuff only barely remembers each one. Astrid is looking forward to reading more about how they rescued a sea shocker. 

“Astrid, can we speak for a moment?” Hiccup asks, reaching for her arm and flinching away at the last second. Astrid remembers the bruise she left when they were 14, a huge splotch on his leg where she’d dropped her axe. No one had flinched from that. Perhaps that should have been their warning. 

“Sure.” She says. Eret hovers and she waves him off. “I’m sure Fishlegs probably needs your help with the supplies?” She offers, knowing the both of them would appreciate it. 

“Could you do me a favour?” Hiccup asks. Astrid doesn’t want to ever do such a thing again, but she inclines her head. “If we have a girl, could you name her Zephyr?” 

“You’re the chief.” Astrid shrugs. At least it’s not literally  _ Toothless _ , even if she thinks Zephyr is on the nose. “You pick baby names anyway.” 

“Hmm.” Hiccup agrees. Astrid goes to ask why not Valka, why not ask for a boy to be called Stoick, but it doesn’t matter. Zephyr is unfortunate, but it is no worse than Hiccup. 

Astrid can tell when she repeats the name later Fishlegs thinks it’s silly too. It’s silly, and she’s so sure that how ever many miles and miles the twins are away they think it’s silly, but in the end she says it to herself and doesn’t hate it. Perhaps, for a moment, the Hiccup that had so inspired her, that had intrigued her, that had been enough to stay behind on this island was there. Zephyr, like the breeze, like being on a dragon’s back, like being  _ free.  _

“Zephyr,” Astrid says, curled up in her bed with the soup Fishlegs brought and a pile of letters she wants to reread. “It’s okay, it’s time. We all want to meet you.” 

It is the middle of the night when she decides to arrive. Astrid can smell smoke and Eret has had her walking the circumstance of Fishlegs’ house for an hour. Her breath is ragged and she can hear the clash of weapons and she hopes and she prays it’ll die down soon. 

“If you need to fight.” Astrid says, trying to look out the window but there’s another cramp and Eret turns her again. She wishes they could both be out there, defending their home. She thinks about how Eret’s already lost so many homes. How her child isn’t even born yet and she’s already losing one. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Eret hushes, steadying her with an arm and keeping her moving. She wants him to fight, to not have to leave all of a sudden, so tired of running and fighting. A moment later, and another contraction, she wants to have already been gone, feet swaying on board a long boat. 

“If you need to fight.” She repeats. Eret swats at her gently, keeping her steady. 

“Dear Tuffnut,” she starts, even though no one’s prepared to write her a letter. She will say it to his face. “I only regret two things, not being able to save my Uncle Finn and not getting on that boat with you.” 

“Astrid,” Fishlegs says. He doesn’t finish, doesn’t mention it again until Astrid’s daughter is born and the fight outside settles. The baby cries and cries, tears streaked down Astrid’s cheeks as she tries to quieten her, to not draw attention to the house. Eret 

“Astrid,” Fishlegs starts, and when Astrid looks up at him he looks away, “even after everything, even though it was hard, it was too much, I’m glad you stayed.” 

“Oh,” Astrid says. She looks down at the wriggling bundle of skin and fuzzy hair in her arms and then offers her over for Fishlegs to hold again. “I’m glad I stayed too.” 

She does not look at the damage, Eret does not speak of who is injured, who is dead. Zephyr is here, and she’s  _ work  _ and Astrid lets the routine drag her to sleep, to not think about how so many people, so many friends have not visited. The desperation, the worry sits low in her stomach let the weight is still there and she counts the minutes until they can steal away in the middle of the night to her trader’s boat, leaving New Berk behind. 

The docks are ablaze again when she tucks Zephyr close, a sling of cloth Eret had made swaddling her to Astrid’s chest. They put on squid ink black cloaks and take only the dimmest lantern to light their way, and take a track through the forest Astrid knows like the back of her hand. There is screaming and fires and a churning in Astrid’s gut but she holds Fishlegs’ hand and prays to any god that will listen that they’ll make it okay, that her trader will be there, that everything is okay. The procession stops when they hit water and Astrid feels her heart throb in her throat, worried, gripping too hard to the satchel full of letters and the stuffed yak toy. 

“What’s the hold up?” Astrid asks, voice a croak. Fishlegs steps to the side, six or so long boats at the shore, the trading boat amongst them. Everything is ready, but there’s still tension clinging to the moment. 

“The tide’s going out,” her trader says, “it’s time.” 

“Let’s go then.” Astrid says, but no one else moves. She drops Fishlegs’ hand and steps forward, turning to look at the familiar faces in the crowd, of her friends and her neighbours, all facing her. In the moonlight, they almost glow, pale skin and dented helmets. “I’m sorry New Berk hasn’t worked out like we hoped.” She feels like she should say more, like Hiccup would but in the end, like always, she’s not Hiccup. They’re quiet, until. 

“Lead on, chief.” Eret says. Astrid’s eyes  _ burn _ . 

Eret holds out a hand for Astrid to leverage herself up onto the trading boat, the first step into their new life as a village ringing out. The sounds of the fight, of those too stubborn to move again no longer with them and they sail off into the inky depths of the night. Zephyr fusses, her routine broken and the cold around them on all sides and Astrid doesn’t look back, looks down at her future instead. 

It is days and days until they make some headway, legs no longer so unsteady, Vikings remembering how to be  _ Vikings  _ again. The fresh air and the spray of salt water makes Astrid feel new again, the feeling of her stomach dropping when the waves are high not that dissimilar to the movements of flying on a dragon. She stands at the bow, watching the water rush by, their destination getting closer and closer and whispers secrets about Stormfly to her daughter. 

It is the fifth day that Eret spies another boat, a hodge-podge of things that doesn’t very much make sense and Astrid’s heart soars. She doesn’t need to hear it has a patchwork sail of dragons, or there’s a chicken coop to know who it belongs to. 

_ Finally,  _ she thinks. She’s finally coming home to where she’s meant to be. Eret directs them in close, a single figure on board and when their boats bump Ruff swings across, landing on the trader’s boat with a thud. 

“Ruffnut.” Astrid says, and Fishlegs all but squeals and they rush forward. Ruff takes the hug Fishlegs bestows upon her, for a moment, and slaps Eret on the bicep. 

“You.” Ruff says, pointing at Astrid and Astrid holds her breath. Ruffnut looks  _ good _ , like life on the sea and on the run is treating her very well. Ruff steps closer, a little like she’s going for a hug and then brings up a fist. 

Ruff punches her, hard. 

Astrid laughs, throws her hand up and hauls Ruff into a hug. Ruff sinks into it, arm around Astrid’s side too tight. For a minute Astrid buries her head into Ruff’s shoulder, breathing in smoke and salt, and holding on. 

“Who’s this?” Ruff asks, other hand reaching over to poke like she doesn’t know  _ exactly  _ what will happen if a baby gets poked. 

“Zephyr.” Astrid offers, ready for Ruff’s laugh. 

“Ugh,” Ruff says. And then, “ _ Hiccup? _ ” And Astrid laughs. Of course it was, who else, who else?

Ruff takes Zephyr like she knows what she’s doing, tucking her into the crook of a pointy elbow. Zephyr babbles, little hands going up to grab clumsily at the fingers 

“Who’s the cutest baby with the dumbest name?” 

And then, time stops with a simple “Astrid?” 

Astrid turns, looking back to the hodge-podge ship that’s been the twin’s home since they left, put together with the same kind of care and haphazardness that they had on Berk, true Berk. She loves it already, loves the look on Tuff’s face like even now he can’t imagine that Astrid really did sail across the ocean to stand here with me. Astrid steps up on the edge of the trader’s boat and like an echo of five nights ago her foot thuds down onto the boat like it means something. 

“Tuff,” Astrid says, unsure what to say next, too many words caught up in her throat. She lifts her hands, not sure if she should pull him in too. 

“Get on with it!” Ruff yells, covering Zephyr’s little ears as she bounces her up and down, Snotlout at her elbow. Astrid swivels to give her a rude gesture, and when she turns back Tuff looks more like himself, more sure. 

“Do you want to run away with me?” Tuff asks, and Astrid throws herself at him. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
